


this thing called us

by optimusfine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Arizona Coyotes | Phoenix Coyotes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 07:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimusfine/pseuds/optimusfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They're not friends, not really, because outside of the bedroom Taylor really can't stand Biz, so that's fucking with Taylor's head in a way he hadn't expected. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	this thing called us

**Author's Note:**

> animosity between teammates! sex! awkward porn! emotionally stunted manboys! \o/
> 
> but seriously idk man, this shit's fucking weird. it started one way and then ended a totally other and i'm not sure if i like it? the ending does not sit well with me, tbh. ): not beta'd for time reasons; written for the prompt _king of hearts_ for pass_shoot_porn.
> 
> fic title taken from _us_ by she wants revenge.

It's a thing. That's it.

Nothing more, nothing less. It's a thing they do, usually at home -- because Biz could pick up a chick anywhere with his eyes closed, but Arizona girls are something else, apparently; Taylor wouldn't know -- where exhaustion and defeat don't take enough of a toll on their sex drives.

Lately, it's been different, because they've been _winning_ , which is a much more novel concept than it should be, really.

But the point is, Biz is acting differently, which means he's fucking Taylor differently, and that's fine, okay, not a big deal.

Except he's fucking Taylor like Taylor actually _means_ something besides being a willing fuck buddy and a close teammate. They're not friends, not really, because outside of the bedroom Taylor really can't stand Biz, so that's fucking with Taylor's head in a way he hadn't expected.

"Taylor," in a hot rush over Taylor's neck, and he's brought back to the present, to Biz hovering over him, chest pressed against Taylor's back and knee knocking against the inside of his own.

"Where the fuck did you go?" and Biz sounds almost _concerned_ , the fucker.

"None of your fucking business."

Taylor knows that he's being a bit more antagonistic than usual, but that's how they are. He pretends to hate Biz, Biz doesn't care, and it works for them.

"Hey."

Biz's hand is sliding down Taylor's chest, splaying warmly over his ribs before curling around Taylor's hip, and it's a flurry of movement that Taylor can't follow later where he finds himself thrown on his back, eyes wide where he's staring up at Biz, pupils blown with surprise and remnants of lust.

"What?" Taylor asks, trying not to wince at how breathless he sounds.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"

Taylor blinks, hands clenching on the sheet above his head, fingers curling tight enough in the fabric that his knuckles go white and the cords in his arm stands out under the pale skin as he resists the urge to pull Biz down and kiss him.

Of all the things they've done, the fact that Biz usually has his dick up Taylor's ass, kissing is off limits.

"Nothing," he says, trying to sound offended and almost succeeding. He sounds more worried than anything, though, and a little nervous.

"Taylor."

"Biz, drop it."

But Biz is an asshole who wouldn't know the meaning of the words "drop it" if they bit him in the ass and called him Daddy, so he doesn't.

"We've been on a fucking tear and you're just being..." Biz waves his hand in the air, looking for the right word. "Well, you're being a dick."

Taylor snorts, turning his head and glaring at Biz's wall. It's full of posters of supermodels with exotic names that Taylor doesn't even know how to begin pronouncing, and most of the posters are autographed, with lipstick stains on the paper.

"Shut up, I have not."

Biz is suddenly _there_ , in Taylor's space, a hand curling around Taylor's wrist and pinning it the bed, face so close that they're practically breathing the same air. Taylor is suddenly nervous in a way he never is with Biz, only that's a fucking lie because Biz makes him nervous.

Taylor twists away, or tries to, before there's another hand on his chest to keep him from moving and a mouth on his shoulder and teeth in his skin.

"Fuck! What the hell are you doing, you asshole?"

"You've been fucking weird. Stop it."

There's a tightness in Taylor's chest that isn't only caused by the hand pressing down on it, but he ignores that.

"Fuck you," he hisses, fingers of his free hand sliding around the back of Biz's head and clenching, looking for hair to hold onto even though he knows he won't find it. "Are you going to fuck me or not? I have better things to do with my time if you're not."

That would work any other time but now, because even when Taylor hitches his hips up pointedly, thrusting against Biz's stomach, Biz just makes a face at him and shifts so that he's straddling Taylor, knees bracketing Taylor's hips.

"I'm not going to fuck you when you're being a bitch."

"Do you ever fucking shut up, I swear to God."

Taylor doesn't usually get angry, but there's just _something_ about Biz, about how uncaring and nonchalant he is about everything, including this, when Taylor goes home and jerks off in the shower and thinks about Biz's hands on his skin and the way his face looks when he comes.

"Oh, baby, you flatter me so," Biz mock coos, and Taylor huffs.

"Seriously, Biz, this isn't fun. Let me up so I can go home."

Biz shakes his head.

"Nope. Not until you tell me what the hell crawled up your ass and died between 20 minutes ago and now, especially because I didn't think there was room for anything else up there."

Taylor rolls his eyes.

"I didn't think you were the heartfelt talk type. Don't prove me wrong."

But Biz, colossal asshole he is -- seriously, can't he tell that Taylor just wants to go the fuck home and forget this stupid night even happened? He could totally forget about this if he wanted to, okay -- plants his elbows right next to Taylor's head and settles down on top of Taylor likes he has no intention of going anywhere.

"I love proving people wrong, Taylor, how long have you known me?"

"Too long," Taylor mutters, and wiggles underneath Biz so that he can slide a hand down his chest to curl long fingers around Biz's dick. It's the best way to distract him, and it actually works, because Biz arches and makes this stupid face that's somehow totally hot.

It's only a few more moments of shifting and maneuvering and a knee to the chest later that Biz is finally back where Taylor wants him, fucking into him with smooth motions of his hips and they're not talking anymore, thank God.

"So, Taylor," and Taylor groans, because really? Only Biz would try to hold a conversation right now.

Taylor's had enough.

"I thought I told you to shut the fuck up," he hisses, and then leans up and bites at Biz's mouth, pulling away with Biz's bottom lip swelling between his teeth. Biz makes an interesting noise into his mouth and his hips stutter for a split second before he's right back at it, harder and faster and just all around _better_ , so much more what Taylor wants.

Taylor doesn't even have time to think about what's happening before heat is pooling in his gut and spreading through him, white flashing behind his eyes, and he goes boneless against the bed.

Biz is still fucking him, setting his nerves alight again, and he can't even find it in him to pull away when Biz smashes their mouths together in a wet, sloppy, orgasm-flavored kiss as he comes.

"Fuck," Taylor breathes, scrubbing at his eyes with shaking hands, and he hears Biz laugh weakly next to him.

"Yeah."

Taylor stretches his arms over his head, letting out a long breath before he rolls over and practically falls over the edge of the bed, if not for the arm that grabs onto him and keeps him from moving.

It's a nice gesture, but Taylor needs to get dressed and go, so he waits for Biz to let go.

Biz doesn't.

"The fuck, Biz? Let me go."

Biz laughs, and Taylor shivers when he can feel it on the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck, causing goosebumps.

"No. You're emotionally compromised, Py, you can't go out like this."

Taylor whacks Biz's shoulder as much as he can, but it's awkward, and he hears Biz laugh at him again.

"You're a fucking loser, why the fuck have you been watching Star Trek?"

"How did you know that was from Star Trek?"

Taylor makes a face, the heat rushing up to his cheeks, and he rolls over to kiss Biz to make him shut up because hey, he can do that now.

And it works, because Biz kisses back.

It's not perfect, and Taylor still doesn't know whether Biz even likes him, and he still doesn’t really like Biz, but he supposes it doesn't really matter, now that he has a way to shut Biz up.


End file.
